David met me at the greenhouse’s entrance, the question of Amber’s presence in his face. I shook my head from side to side.
Even through layers of clothing, his hand’s sudden grasp of my arm felt intense. “You made a tough judgment about my commitment to these kids based on what you found at Ashwood. Right now,” he shook my arm slightly, “I swear to you that not one of them will be harmed if I can offer protection.”
He turned, whistled over the storm’s howls, gestured for others to join us. Repeated the whistle and made use of his height to attract attention of the snow crews. Adults kept workers roped together guiding their small groups toward us, heads bent as they struggled against the winds.
“Amber’s missing. She was here,” he pointed to where we stood, “then tried to make it back to where Cook was working.” I remembered his South Dakota farm experience, wondered if he ever expected to call on skills learned working in the elements and was thankful to have him at Ashwood. “Don’t anyone untie your guide ropes. Just walk in a line in the direction I send you. Use your eyes and kick through the snow. Nobody wander off on your own. Come back when I whistle like this.” David repeated his piercing call. We need one whistler on each team. If you find her, whistle first.”
Each team tested a volunteer whistler, then David sent the teams off in a fan from the greenhouse. “Stay close to me,” he directed. “Shoulder to shoulder is best. We’ll kick through the immediate area.”
Thirty or more pairs of feet sent snow back into the eerily quiet yard. Except for the mismatched pair of Terrell and Tia, no string of searchers could be identified in the gloom. I bent my head and shuffled, then kicked as David directed the way.
“Amber.” A worker’s childish voice cut through our silence.
“Amber.” Another child joined then another and another until her name became the desperate chanting engine of our activity.
“Here.” Tia’s voice rose above the children, replaced by a loud blasting whistle from Terrell. David tapped my arm, gestured that we should go to the small shed where his wife knelt, brushing snow from the child she so thoughtlessly leapfrogged earlier. Terrell whistled again, drawing all teams to the supply sheds across from the greenhouse area.
Without a rope around his waist, David could bend next to her and work his hands under Amber’s quiet body. He led us, carrying her to the house, one small foot covered by a red sock instead of a boot, one bare hand wrapped with his scarf, feeble whimpering sounds barely moving beyond her blue-toned lips. We followed, adults helping young people so tired from the raking and searching and trudging through the heavy snow that the regular five-minute walk to Ashwood’s residence seemed an impossible distance. My mind raced ahead to what medical care we might need for Amber or others affected by the cold.
David lit the kindling in the fireplace of the workers’ recreation room while Terrell removed Amber’s soaked outer clothes. He hummed some old, old nursery song. Lana shed her wet things at the door then ran to gather warm blankets, towels and clothes while I took off my coat. Terrell brought Amber to me, shivers already beginning to rack her body.
I took over removing her house clothes, peeling overdress and turtleneck as fast as possible with her weak cooperation. I hesitated at her undershirt, not wanting to expose her to more chill, but it was too wet to remain. Sitting with her on my knees on the edge of a chair, I spoke under Terrell’s pleasant humming.
“Little one, I need to take off your shirt and get you into something warm. So if you can lift your arms, I’ll be quick, and Terrell is right here with a dry shirt and your pajamas. Ready?”
Her teeth chattered.
“Here we go,” I moved as quickly as possible. The shirt moved up her arms and over her head. A series of healed scars crossed her lower back. Terrell’s tune maintained its beats, but his eyes widened. We looked at each other as I dropped a dry shirt over her head. I layered on a pajama top and sweater then wrapped her in a cotton blanket, laid a warmed heating pad between us and leaned back in the chair. Terrell lowered a comforter over the child and me, so only our heads were exposed. Amber shivered while snuggling in, a bunny in a safe nest.
“David told me how you found the children,” Tia offered as she came to stand next to us. “We trusted Barbara to do the right thing. We’re not bad people.” No trace of the morning’s bender remained. She was at her best. “Lana’s making tea and hot chocolate. The others are finishing up outside.” She bent closer to touch Amber’s hair. “How’s she doing?”
Under our blanket coverings, Amber’s cold fingers inched into my unzipped sweater. I tightened my arms around her, pulled her head into that space between neck and shoulder God must have created just to comfort a child. Still mumbling, she settled, tears wetting my clothing.
“We’re both warming up. The residence is chilly.” I searched for Amber’s hands, one cool, the other still icy from its exposure. “We need mittens with warmers, socks and slippers. If we have any boot warmers, put them into one of the older workers’ slippers. She’ll be more comfortable with a little medication as well, if someone can bring the small kit here for me.”
“Director Tia and I will find everything. Give the child some quiet.” Terrell tipped his head toward the room’s arched doorway. Tia followed.
“Did you know?” David squatted at our side, his voice quiet, almost absorbed by the crackling fire.
“There’s nothing in the files.”
Lana brought socks and slippers. David unwrapped Amber’s legs, covered her feet then wrapped her again. He directed workers to look for another warming pad. As Tia returned carrying a tray with drinks and meds, I could tell by the blaze in her eyes that she now knew about Amber’s past abuse.
“Matron, you look like you’re overheating,” she said as she handed her husband a cup of hot chocolate. Her hand touched his arm and stayed there while he took his first sip. “Maybe I should practice holding a child?”
“I want to stay with ‘Trone,’ please.”
Amber’s young voice stumbling over Matron reminded me of my responsibility for all at Ashwood. With luck, the child would survive her time in the cold. Another woman’s arms could offer comfort and warmth. If holding this little girl, feeling the trusting small body nestling in for security, could calm Tia’s fears of parenting her own daughter, then I needed to make that happen.
So I bent my head close to the child’s face remembering my real responsibilities, denying myself the simple sweetness of dropping a light kiss on her apple pink cheeks. I hugged her into the hollow place she now warmed on my shoulder. “I need to check that everyone is safe. Director Tia will keep you toasty here by the fire.”
My lips almost smacked together as I passed over the top of her tousled dark hair. Almost. When David lifted Amber from my arms, the room felt huge and cold. I helped settle her into Tia’s arms, checked if drier clothes were needed, tucked the comforter around them. Leaving, I glanced back once and saw David lean over them, and let myself acknowledge that he resembled my Richard. Then, blaming lifting of the heating pad and blankets for the chill that settled in my chest, I went to my own quarters for fresh clothes.
The only route to my rooms took me through the kitchen area, now action central with Magda giving directions about the greenhouses, Jack assigning livestock feeding responsibilities and Terrell managing preparation for an early dinner. I asked a worker to bring blankets to the kitchen to warm. Questions about Amber came from everyone.
Lao talked while walking alongside the bustling Terrell. Both frowned. I gave up on my goal of finding dry clothes and stayed in the midst of the action.
“Is there something I should know about?” I asked Lao.
In the activity-filled kitchen area, Lao spoke louder than I expected, still using words with as much economy as I would spend money. “I have heard on our old radio band of power failures throughout the estates. Heavy snow and strong winds damaged a number of windmill blades. Ours look solid, and our solar storage is
holding, but I have asked Cook Terrell to economize energy use tonight.”
“We’ll have dinner early and keep the soup on for the folks who have to be working in the out buildings.” Terrell shrugged. “The gas range’ll work without electricity.”
“I want to redirect energy from the residence,” Lao said. “If we eat in the workers’ dining room and stay in the large room with a good fire in the fireplace, I think we can keep the out buildings’ systems at full capacity. Adults can sleep here or bunk together in the barn’s office.”
“There are cots and spare blankets we can set up in the workers’ dining room, so nobody has to sleep with the cows,” I replied. “What do we know about how much longer this storm is going to last? The directors are scheduled on an afternoon transport tomorrow to meet their daughter.” Both men’s faces softened at my news. “She was born this morning, three weeks early, but healthy.”
For a moment my thoughts went to the woman who delivered Baby Regan, and the blizzard outside touched my soul. Would she hold the baby, perhaps too tightly? Would she cry while pumping milk for the long months required by contract? Could I stay above my emotion when Baby Regan arrived?
Terrell touched my arm. “Something wrong, Matron?”
I shook my head, forced a smile. “No. Let the directors spread it to the staff. Right now, I just need to know first, if they can get out, and second, if we think we’ll be ready for a newborn at Ashwood?”
“The last forecast I heard suggests the winds and the snow should taper off toward morning,” Lao shared. “There are already six foot drifts along the estate roadway. I don’t think there will be clear roads tomorrow. We might be able to get them to the city by snowmobile if the jet transport is operable.”
“Please keep me informed of whatever news you gather on the radio band.” Odd to talk about decorating issues at this time. “Lao, Director Tia wants their daughter and nanny to have a suite of rooms closer to mine. I think that means we need to use the two visitor rooms across the hall from me.”
“We have climate control issues in those rooms,” Lao responded. “That’s why we use them as short-term sleeping space. It won’t work. Tell the directors the baby must be in the nursery.” He stopped, closed one eye, and looked directly at me. “Or, you could trade spaces and move into the nursery suite. It’s smaller but would be comfortable.”
“I don’t think the directors want me in the rooms next to theirs and the baby so far away.”
The men shifted positions. Lao rubbed the bridge of his nose, put one hand in his back pants pocket as if feeling for a data pad.
“Seems to me, the question is: would Director David want his baby half way across the house?” Terrell added with a slight nod of his head. “I’m thinking this man wants that baby where he can leave the door open and hear her cry. You better talk with both of them about where this little director baby will sleep.”
“If we need to convert the small guest rooms into a nursery, how much time would you need, Lao?”
“The walls are recently painted. For that heating problem, we need maybe a week to adjust the entire wing. In winter, I’d rather not take so much time away from the out buildings.” Lao stopped, as if he’d spent too much word currency. He cleared his throat. “Furniture isn’t scheduled for delivery for two weeks. The weather will back that up.”
Other babies could spend their first weeks wrapped in soft towels sleeping in a makeshift bed made from a drawer or a box. But this was a baby born to an estate where such measures would not be appreciated. I imagined a Bureau nurse carrying Baby Regan into taupe-colored rooms with bare wood floors, empty shelves and no bassinette or crib. Her data pad would be sending messages before the nursery’s doors could be closed. I reached for my own, hoping communications were back in operation. No luck.
“What about provisions, Terrell? Would our stores stretch to cover two or three weeks of feeding the baby’s nanny?”
“We’ll be fine, unless she’s a big woman who eats more than Director David.” Terrell smiled, reached out a hand and gave my shoulder a gentle shake. “Don’t worry, Matron, people always make room for a baby. If everything isn’t perfect when she gets here, Lao will make it perfect real soon after.”
Silence followed. I dug deep.
“You’re quite right that I need to speak with both of the directors about the baby’s quarters. Maybe this is the best time.” Still in my wet clothes I headed back to the workers’ school room to have the discussion.
David now sat in the chair, a dozing Amber resting against his shoulder. His arms held her easily, as if she weighed no more than their newborn daughter. He smiled my way, a combination of a contented grin and male self-consciousness.
Across the room on a sofa Tia lay wrapped in a throw. Her eyes appeared locked on David and Amber so much so that I wasn’t sure she noticed my entrance. Looking her way, I thought I saw simple affection and the same contentment that her husband exuded.
I pulled a footrest midway between them and sat down.
“Amber’s color looks good.” The child in our midst deserved first attention.
David straightened his back slightly, resettling the sleeping girl. “She stopped shivering, and I think I provided a more comfortable sleeping surface than Tia.” He winked at his wife. She blinked then drew herself upright.
“I’ll keep an eye on her tonight, but I think we found her before serious injuries could happen. We’ll have to watch that hand and foot for frostbite damage.” We sat in quiet, enjoying the relief that comes when a child is once again safe. Hoping to take advantage of Tia’s calm, I changed the subject.
“It’s possible you’ll bring your daughter home in a few days.” I smiled at Tia then David. “We need to prepare Ashwood’s nursery.”
“The rooms were painted in July,” David responded. “We’ve been bringing blankets and things home from our travels. Where did we store the baby things, Tia?”
“In our big suitcases in the storage room.” Tia now curled back into the sofa, her feet drawn up under the throw, an elfin woman in the rather large room. “We bought almost everything on the Bureau’s recommended list. You probably know it, Matron—a dozen onsies, a half-dozen sweaters or jackets, a half-dozen pajama outfits, socks, blankets, and all that stuff. David found the nicest things in Europe.”
The woman’s insensitivity continued, catching me off guard. Did she assume that a surrogate would study a baby’s future clothing needs, or did she intend to put me into that housekeeper role with responsibility for keeping everyone’s drawers filled with socks and shirts?
“We’ll need to wash some things in advance,” was what I could say without anger. “The only immediate challenge is a place for your daughter to sleep until the furniture arrives.”
“Then maybe the surrogate should take care of the baby for an extra week or so,” Tia suggested. “We don’t want to put this child in a temporary bed.”
David shifted Amber’s weight again, pulled the blankets around a leg escaping into the room’s slight drafts. “I remember my parents bedding down a cousin in a big drawer lined with soft stuff. We could do that for a few nights. She won’t know, and I think it’s important she bond with us as soon as possible.”
“What did the Smithsons do with your baby, Annie?” Tia asked the question from her cocoon of covers, a snakelike smile parting her lips.
“I wouldn’t know, Tia. Surrogates don’t go to the home of the baby’s parents.” That she would make it a point to find out the name of the baby’s parents added to the emotional swirl begun during the kitchen conversation with Lao and Terrell. I pushed to the real point of this discussion.
“David, earlier Tia asked me to find space farther from your suite for the baby so your rest would not be compromised by the nursery noise.”
I paused, giving either of them the opportunity to volunteer an opinion. Tia switched her gaze to the fireplace. “The problem is that, short of my quarters, Ashwood’s residence doesn�
�t have any other space beyond the nursery to serve all of a nanny’s needs as well as the baby’s.”
David looked at me as I spoke, then at Tia as he responded. Contentedness disappeared with another episode of his wife’s reluctance to embrace parenthood. “You don’t really want the nursery to be moved, do you, T? With the second baby planned for delivery next fall, we’ll have a great time being close to all the action of the kids. I can do without some sleep for a few years.”
I let surprise of a second baby arrival sail past, wanting this baby’s arrival to be well planned. “So, we can use the nursery for your daughter?”
“Whatever Daddy wants,” Tia said, waving a hand in the air. “He knows much more about family fun than this only child does. Anyway, I think you might have taken me too literally, Anne.”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Amber said from David’s shoulder. “Anne, will you help me?”
David unwrapped the comforter. She pushed back against his shoulder as the room air cooled her body. “Wrap up in this,” he said as he set her on her feet and settled a comforter across her shoulders. The father David would be showed as he reminded Amber to watch her manners. “And, unless you are told otherwise, remember your manners and call this woman Matron Anne.”
14
Thirty adults and children, a mix of stranded day laborers and residents, packed the worker’s gathering room after dinner that evening making enough noise to mask the sounds of tree branches snapping against the residence. Snow drifts reached low window ledges. Until the storm calmed, many remained dressed for another shift outdoors. The adults knew Ashwood’s losses from the storm could be immense if the energy grid failed, or a big tree fell on a critical building or a serious health concern developed.
David whistled to gain attention of the crowd. “I have a big announcement to make.” He held out a hand to Tia and pulled her to his side. “Besides meeting Matron Anne and Cook Terrell for the first time today and sharing this blizzard experience with you, Director Tia and I received big news this afternoon. Our daughter, Phoebe, was born in the city.” He swallowed, emotion lowering his voice. “She is healthy and will be at Ashwood in a few days.”
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